ASOIAF INFO

aerion targaryen had not wanted a martell bride, that was the simple truth of it.

when the match had first been proposed, he had regarded it as what it was, another arrangement crafted by older, wiser people who believed they knew what was best for the realm.

best for him.

he remembered standing beside a window overlooking blackwater bay when the news had been delivered. "a princess of dorne?" he had said flatly.

his father had given him a look. "a beautiful princess of dorne."

"i do not particularly care." and at the time, he had meant it, or at least he had thought he did.

then he met you and, unfortunately for aerion, everything became much more difficult, because you were beautiful, not merely beautiful in the way courtiers described ladies to secure favor, you were genuinely, devastatingly beautiful.

you were kind.

gods, he hated how much he liked that. your confidence, your sweetness, your fire…

the trouble began when they were forced to spend time together, before marriage there had been dinners, walks, appearances and conversations neither of you could reasonably escape.

at first aerion had expected them to be tedious, instead he discovered that you were clever. you challenged him, argued with him and even laughed at him. the first time you laughed directly at one of his dramatic declarations, he had stared at you in complete disbelief. "how dare you laugh."

"because you sound absurd!!”

aerion's jaw tightened at your insolence, but something in him stirred at the sight of your unapologetic smile. no one- no one- dared speak to a targaryen so, let alone laugh at their pronouncements.

"you find me absurd?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"i find your declaration that 'all lesser houses should bow before the might of dragons' rather theatrical for a supper conversation," you replied, taking a sip of wine. "especially when the only dragon present is the one carved into your knife handle."

he stared at you, speechless for a moment. the courtiers nearby had gone silent, their eyes darting between you both like spectators at a tourney.

"you walk a dangerous line, princess," aerion finally managed, though he couldn't keep the faint hint of amusement from his voice.

“and i must admit, your family's reputation precedes you." you said with a shrug.

a flicker of his old arrogance returned. "as it should."

"as it should," you agreed, much to his surprise. "but reputations are often exaggerated. i prefer to judge people by their actions rather than their bloodlines."

"and what have my actions told you so far?"

"that you enjoy being admired," you said thoughtfully. "that you're accustomed to getting what you want. and that beneath all that targaryen pride, there's a man who doesn't particularly enjoy being laughed at."

he leaned forward, "and what else have you discovered?"

"that you're lonely," you said simply.

his immediate instinct was to deny it, to push back with some cutting remark about dornish impertinence, but the truth of your statement left him momentarily defenseless. "i have a family," he said finally. "a dynasty."

"a family is not the same as companionship," you replied, your voice softer now. "a dynasty is a burden. a companion is a choice."

the evening ended with an unspoken understanding between you. as you parted ways, aerion found himself watching you retreat, the sway of your dark hair against your vibrant silks, the confidence in your stride. he had come to this marriage expecting to endure it, to fulfill his duty and nothing more.

now, for the first time, he wondered if duty might not be such a burden after all.

then came marriage and forced proximity finished what attraction had started because now you were everywhere.

at breakfast.

at supper.

reading by the window.

laughing with your ladies.

sleeping beside him….

the chambers that had once belonged solely to aerion suddenly felt empty whenever you left them. you had somehow become part of every routine, and months later, the transformation was complete. aerion adored you. there was no point denying it anymore, the servants knew, everyone with eyes knew, he followed you around the red keep whenever possible.

if you entered a room, somehow aerion appeared shortly afterward, if you mentioned liking something once, it mysteriously arrived days later.

flowers. spices. books. rare dornish wines.

anything.

everything.

the greatest shock, however, was how gentle he became with you…true, aerion targaryen would never be soft, but he was gentle. his hand always found the small of your back, he noticed when you were tired, when you were cold, when court became too much. it was as though he had developed an awareness of you that bordered on obsession.

yours and his first major argument had been simmering for days. you wanted to visit your family in dorne for the harvest festival- a reasonable request, in your estimation. aerion, however, saw it differently.

"you are my wife," he'd stated, his voice dangerously quiet. "your place is here. with me."

"and i am your wife, not your prisoner," you'd retorted, "i have not seen my siblings in nearly a year. my mother sent a raven specifically requesting my presence."

that night in your chambers, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. you stood by the hearth, arms crossed, while he paced before you like a caged dragon.

"it is not safe," he insisted. "the roads are perilous this time of year. and i do not trust dornish hospitality toward a targaryen princess."

"my family would never harm me," you said, exasperated. "this is not about safety. this is about control."

he stopped pacing and faced you, his eyes blazing. "i have given you everything- books, wines, silks from across the narrow sea. is that not enough? must you always test the limits of my generosity?"

"generosity?" you laughed without humor. "you give me trinkets while denying me the one thing i truly want- a connection to my home, my family. these gifts are chains, aerion. beautiful, expensive chains."

“you will not go and that is final.”

the finality in his tone was absolute, a royal command that brooked no argument. he stood before you, not as the gentle man who brought you rare wines, but as the targaryen prince who expected obedience.

for a long moment, you said nothing. you simply looked at him.

"very well, husband," you said, your voice dangerously soft. you turned away from him and walked to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens of the red keep. "as you have commanded me."

a flicker of triumph crossed his face, quickly replaced by confusion. this was too easy. he had expected tears, pleading, another sharp retort. he had not expected this quiet, hollow acceptance.

"good," he said, his voice gruff. "it is for your own protection."

you didn't turn around. "of course. everything is for my own good. i am a fragile thing, after all. a targaryen princess who must be kept in a gilded cage, lest i break."

the sarcasm in your tone was a subtle poison. he took a step toward you. "that is not what i meant."

"isn't it?" you finally turned, your face a mask of serene indifference that was more cutting than any glare could have been. "you do not trust me. you do not trust my family. you do not trust my judgment. you only trust your own will."

you walked past him toward the adjoining dressing chamber.

"where are you going?" he demanded, his voice tight.

"to bed," you replied without looking back. "alone. i find i am not in the mood for company tonight."

you disappeared behind the screen, leaving him standing alone in the grand chamber. the silence that fell was heavier than any shouted words.

he stood there for a long time, the silence in the chambers growing heavier with each passing moment. the victory felt sour, hollow. he had won the argument, but in doing so, he had lost something far more valuable. the rooms, once filled with your vibrant presence, now felt cavernous and cold. the fire crackled, but it offered no warmth.

an hour passed.

the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting silver shadows across the rugs. he could not sleep. he could not think. all he could do was feel the vast, empty space you had left beside him. he was a dragon prince, heir to a dynasty, and he was being tormented by the absence of his wife.

finally, with a low growl of frustration, he pushed himself away from the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. he didn't bother to knock. he threw the door open with enough force to make it slam against the stone wall.

you were curled up on your side in the smaller, simpler bed, facing away from the door. the room was dark, save for a single candle burning low on a table. you didn't startle at the intrusion. you didn't even move. you had been expecting him.

"get up," his voice was a low command, rough with exhaustion and anger.

you remained still, your breathing even. "i am comfortable here."

"i did not ask for your comfort. i gave you an order," he said, taking a menacing step into the room. "you will not sleep in here like a scorned servant. you are my wife. you will sleep in my bed."

slowly, you rolled over to face him. your face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, serene and utterly devoid of the passion he so often provoked in you. "i am obeying your command, husband. you commanded i not go to dorne. you commanded i stay here. i am staying here. is this not what you wanted?"

his jaw tightened. "you know what i meant. do not play these games with me."

"i am not playing a game," you said, your voice quiet but clear. "you made it clear that my will, my desires, my home- they mean nothing. you have decided what is best for me. so i have decided what is best for me tonight. and that is to sleep alone."

the calmness of your response was infuriating he had not expected this quiet, unassailable wall of indifference. it was a rejection far more profound than any shouted insult could ever be.

he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising. "i will not be made a fool in my own home. you will come with me now."

you allowed him to pull you to a sitting position, your body pliant, but your eyes remained locked on his, filled with a chilling resolve. "drag me if you must, husband," you said softly. "force me back to the bed you wish to share. but know this. you can command my body to be there, but you cannot command my heart to follow."

his grip on your arm loosened. he looked down at you, at the woman he adored, who was now looking at him with the weary resignation of a prisoner.

he stood there, torn between the urge to throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to bed or leave you be.

"it was not my intent to make you angry with me." he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

it was a pathetic attempt at an apology. he wasn't truly sorry about the slight, just sorry that you were upset, and you knew it.

"i am not in the mood for your excuses, aerion," you replied.

the thought of sleeping apart- of a night without your warmth, your scent, your skin pressed against his- was unbearable.

"please," he breathed, reaching out to gently take your hand. he pressed his lips to your knuckles, kissing them with a reverence that made his usual arrogance seem distant.

the targaryen pride that usually demanded submission from others suddenly bent its spine for you. he released your hand and dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor of the chambers, the silence of the castle amplifying the sound.

he reached for the hem of your sleeping gown, his hands shaking slightly as he worked the silk upward, exposing your legs to the golden glow of the firelight. aerion didn't waste a moment, he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his mouth hot and eager against your skin.

he worked his way down slowly, kissing his way along your calf, his tongue darting out to trace the path, his breathing growing heavier. he reached your ankle and gently kissed your bare foot.

"lay back, my darling," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing the boyish panic for a more settled, desperate need.

you obeyed, sinking into the softness of the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. "you are not to make love to me tonight," you reminded him, your voice breathless as he settled between your spread thighs.

he froze, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath warm against your inner thigh. the command was a stone wall thrown up in the middle of his desperate supplication. for a moment, the arrogant prince warred with the pleading man. he had come here to conquer this silence, to erase the distance with the one language he knew you both spoke fluently. to be denied it now, when he was on his knees, was a humiliation he hadn't anticipated.

he lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light. they were dark with a mixture of frustration and a raw, aching need. "you would punish me so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "you would have me worship you and then be denied?"

"i would have you understand," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "you cannot buy my forgiveness with pleasure. you cannot command my affection with your hands or your mouth. you denied me my will. tonight, you will be denied yours."

he stared at you, and you saw the moment he understood. this was not just about sleeping arrangements. this was about power, about respect, about the very foundation of the strange, fierce love you had built. he had tried to wield his authority like a sword, and you had just turned it back on him, showing him its edge.

slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head again.

for a long moment, he remained perfectly still, his forehead pressed against your thigh, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. then, slowly, as if testing the boundaries of his new submission, he turned his head. his lips, soft and reverent, brushed against your inner thigh, a question asked without words.

when you did not pull away, he grew bolder. his kisses became open-mouthed, his tongue tracing lazy circles against your skin, tasting the salt of you. he was worshiping, just as he had promised, but with a new, desperate humility. his hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there, a silent plea for permission.

"let me," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick with a need that went far beyond the physical. "let me show you."

you remained silent, your body still, but you did not stop him. that was all the encouragement he needed. he shifted, settling more comfortably between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them wider. the firelight gilded the white-silver of his hair as he lowered his head, and then his mouth was on you.

there was nothing hesitant about it.

it was a hungry and desperate.

aerion targaryen, the proud prince, was a man starved, and you were his feast. his tongue flattened against your folds, a broad, firm stroke that made your back arch off the bed. a soft gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't contain. he heard it, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh.

"gods, you taste like honeyed syrup," he slurred, his words muffled against your cunt. he was messy, unrefined, his usual aristocratic grace completely abandoned. he ate you like a man dying of thirst, his tongue delving inside you, fucking you with it before moving up to circle your clit with a devastating precision.

he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, hard. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands, holding him to you. he took it as encouragement, his enthusiasm redoubling. he alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue rapidly against you, one of his hands moving from your hip to slide two fingers inside you.

"is this for me?" he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat, his mouth never ceasing its assault. "this sweet, perfect cunt? all for me, my love?"

you could only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving.

he was a mess, his face slick with your arousal, his chin dripping. he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration, and the sight of him- your proud husband on his knees, his face buried in your cunt, worshiping you with his entire being- sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through you.

"that's it, my darling," he coaxed, his voice a husky whisper. "let me taste you. give me your forgiveness, pretty girl."

he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your vision white out, and sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.

“please? please?…” he continued to beg, his voice sounding whinier and whinier. "sleep with me in bed, come back to me..."

the tension that had been coiling in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. you cried out his name, your body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head as you came.

he stayed with you through it all, his tongue lapping gently, his fingers stilling inside you as you shuddered through the aftershocks. when you finally went limp against the sheets, he gently withdrew his fingers and placed one last, lingering kiss on your swollen, sensitive flesh.

he crawled up your body, not to lie beside you, but to hover over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. he didn't try to kiss your lips. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly. he was still hard, a testament to his own desire, but he made no move to seek his own release.

"i am asking for forgiveness" he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse, “i am regretful, my love.” it was different from his earlier attempt. this was not an excuse. it was a true apology of a sort, stripped of all pride, offered in the aftermath of his complete surrender. "not for making you angry. for taking your will."

he lifted his head, his face still glistening with your essence, his dark eyes searching yours. "i will spend the rest of my nights proving my respect to you, if you will let me."

aerion looked at you as though you had hung the stars over king's landing with your own hands and perhaps, in his mind, you had.

“for fucks sake, woman. are you messing with me?” he growled under his breath while his eyes locked onto her cleavage, as if he could melt the fabric with just a look. when he realized what he was doing, he turned his head again and closed his eyes heavily, clenching his jaw tight. he wanted to ask why the hell she had decided not to wear any underwear that day, if she was trying to send him to the grave quickly, but the words got stuck in his throat. he had to take a long sip of wine to keep from giving her the satisfaction of seeing how much that little piece of information was affecting him beneath his black and red breeches.

but he couldn’t stop stealing furtive glances. his eyes kept drifting back to her chest like a magnet, trying to make out whether her nipples showed through the silky fabric. to his disappointment he saw nothing, but he would be patient. he would have her all to himself later that night. he inhaled deeply and his hands moved restlessly in his lap, already imagining how he would push her against the table in his study, bend her over the wooden surface and fuck the frustration out of himself with her pretty cunt. too impatient to undress her properly, he would simply hike up her skirts until he revealed the needy swell of her entrance, his reddened cockhead already nudging her soaked folds apart.

just so you know, maekar is not very fond of this little game you're playing, and he's keeping count of every second you're making him suffer. be prepared for consequences!

── .✦ aerion is training alongside the other knights, with you — his beloved wife — as a spectator, since he had practically dragged you there so you could watch and be proud of how strong he is and how quickly he can disarm any man foolish enough to face him, even if it was only training. honestly, he just wanted your attention, and he was more than capable of turning a simple sword practice into a full performance just for you.

once he finishes, he approaches you with a proud smile, drenched in sweat after defeating everyone in record time. seeing those puppy-like eyes searching yours for even a sliver of validation makes you want to tease him, just a little. “such strength you possess, my love… i bet i could bring you to your knees in seconds.” you purr deceptively sweet, a playful smile lit up your face as you handed him some cool water, letting your fingers brush against a bead of sweat trailing down his forearm. he raised his eyebrows, surprised that you had said such a thing so casually, right in front of the knights and squires still training around you.

his violet eyes darken dangerously as your words finally register in his mind, and a slow swipe of his tongue across his lower lip wipes the smile from his face. “what did you just say to me?” he asks through gritted teeth, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip — strong enough to immobilize your mischievous hand but not enough to hurt you. his gaze, a volatile mix of fury and raw desire, makes you swallow hard and immediately question your choices. “fucking tease. you dare speak to me like that in front of everyone, knowing my father would have my head if i dragged you to the nearest wall and fucked you right here in front of those idiots.”

your knees almost tremble at his words. you should be scared, but the thought only sends a rush of heat through your body. his lips curve into a dark smile when he notices your reaction. he glances sideways, aware of the few curious stares now fixed on the two of you, though the onlookers quickly find something else to distract themselves with. he’s drawing attention, and he knows it.

his head tilts slowly, as if he were about to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, but instead a cruel whisper brushes against your ear. “when i’m done here, i’m taking you back to our chambers, and i’m going to show you exactly who brings the other to their knees, do you understand, wife?” his lips press against the shell of your ear, and his jaw clenches so tightly you can feel it against your skin, as if he’s already imagining you naked and spread beneath him.

after pulling back, he gives a slow, deliberate look up and down your body. “now act like a good wife and behave. or i swear by the seven i will bend you over and fuck you right here in the yard.”

── .✦ you had lost count of how many cups of wine daeron had downed, but it was clearly far too many. his gaze looked distant and unfocused, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he gripped his goblet, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality. it had become a familiar sight after so many months of marriage.

you called his name softly a couple of times, trying to catch his attention as a lord attempted to strike up a conversation with your husband, who remained lost in his thoughts. it seemed you’d have to resort to your final option: give him a reason to stay awake, even if only for a few minutes.

you couldn’t see his face clearly, hidden as it was behind messy strands of sandy hair falling over his eyes. your hand slipped beneath the table and settled on his thigh. His muscles tensed instantly under your palm. a gentle squeeze made his pale, red-rimmed eyes peek through the disheveled locks, more confused than lost. “mm… wha— what?” he stammered pathetically. his legs parted instinctively, widening just a little more, already craving your touch even in his sorry state.

“i know it’s hard, my sweet husband,” you murmured with quiet amusement, “but try to pay attention to poor lord vance. he’s been talking to himself this whole time, thinking he has your full attention.” your hand continued its slow ascent up his thigh until your nails dug lightly into the inner seam of his breeches, making him straighten up like a startled horse.

“hard… i mean— yes, uh… lord vance, of course.” he cleared his throat, his voice rough. his gaze finally shifted toward the lord seated across from you. daeron shifted his hips slightly in his seat, trying to get more comfortable despite the growing hardness between his legs. as if he could care less about that irrelevant lord! the man could rot in the seven hells for all he cared — his wife was practically stroking his cock under a table full of people!

the lord wasn’t completely blind; he clearly sensed something was off, even if he couldn’t quite place it. you offered him an innocent smile. “you’ll have to forgive us, my husband is feeling a bit… indisposed. isn’t that right, dear?” your hand gave his straining cock a firm squeeze. daeron barely managed to choke back a needy groan, nodding along to whatever you said. you could have told the man anything while your hand was on his cock and daeron would have agreed like the good boy he was.

“yes… we must leave,” he muttered, sounding far more desperate than drunk. “lord vance, if you’ll excuse us. it seems i may be unreachable for the rest of the night.”

── .✦ baelor sat beside you on the high royal stands, tall and regar in his black, expensive tunic as he watched the jousts below. the sun was merciless today, beating down on the crowd and making the air thick with heat and dust. you fanned yourself with an ornate fan, your cheeks flushed slightly, though the heat was only partly to blame. your husband right beside you found the knights below much more entertaining than your constant complains about the heat.

with a soft sigh, you switched in your seat and discreetly tugged at the neckline of your dress, pulling it down just enough to give him a generous view of your cleavage. the thin fabric clung to your skin from the warmth, and the subtle movement drew his attention immediately.

baelor's head turned slightly towards you and his eyebrows arched, his mismatched eyes fell on the patch of skin before he forced them towards the field again. his jaw tightened visibly and his fingers started fiddling with his rings.

“my love,” he murmured under his breath, voice low, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “may i ask what are you doing?”

you continued fanning yourself innocently, tilting your head so your hair fell gracefully over one shoulder. another small tug lowered the silk just a little more, letting the sunlight kiss skin. “it's so terribly warm today, husband.” you replied sweetly, your voice soft but laced with mischief. “don't you think so?”

his gaze flickered down again despite himself, lingering in the curve of your breasts before he tored his eyes away. “my love, do not behave so improperly.” he whispered, his voice growing rougher. “compose yourself, dearest.”

you smiled behind your fan, delighted by the way his breathing has grown heavier. even as another knight was unhorsed below, baelor's attention remained divided — torn between duty and the tempting sight you were deliberately offering him.

“perhaps you should help cool me down later then,” you murmured, letting your knee brush against his.

“perhaps,” he murmured back slowly through clenched teeth, clearly fighting a losing battle against his wife's teasing. “you would do well not to test a prince's restraint so openly. not when half of the court sits mere feet away from us.”

── .✦ valarr sat beside you at the high table, ever the picture of princely composure as the feast stretched on. musicians played softly in the background while lords and ladies laughed and chattered around you. he looked regal in his dark tunic, violet eyes scanning the room with quiet vigilance, the weight of expectation always resting on his shoulders.

you leaned slightly closer to him under the guise of reaching for your goblet, letting your lips hover near his ear. your voice was barely a whisper, soft and velvet as you spoke. “you’ve been so tense all evening, my husband,” you murmured, a sweet smile playing on your lips for anyone who might glance your way. “i keep thinking about how good you looked this morning… naked, with my thighs around your head.”

valarr’s hand froze halfway to his cup. his jaw tightened instantly, and you felt the subtle shift in his posture as he fought to keep his expression neutral. a faint flush crept up the back of his neck, barely visible in the warm torchlight. you continued, voice low and wicked, pretending to comment on the music. “i can still taste you on my tongue if i think about it long enough… and right now, all i want is to drop to my knees under this table and take you into my mouth again.”

his breath hitched. valarr turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with a mixture of shock and burning desire. “wife,” he warned quietly, his voice rough and strained, “this is hardly the place…”

you smiled innocently and rested your hand on his thigh beneath the table, giving it a gentle, teasing squeeze. valarr swallowed hard, his fingers clenching around the stem of his goblet until his knuckles paled. he tried to focus on the conversation happening further down the table, but you could see the way his chest rose and fell more quickly. the honorable, dutiful valarr was unraveling thread by thread right beside you.

“you are going to pay for this later,” he whispered back, his tone dark with promise, though the slight hoarseness in his voice betrayed just how affected he was.

you simply took a sip of wine, looking every bit the perfect wife, while your fingers traced slow, maddening circles on his thigh. “i’m counting on it.”